Sob!, unfortunately we haven’t organized a DLSO summer camp yet. It would be definitely cool sweating and speaking of music, or playing music speaking of sweat, it depends on who you are. The fact is that…no, the time for a summer camp hasn’t come yet.
Since we were sorry to say goodbye for the summer pause, we came up with this idea: a super-mega-hyper to-do list to deal with that great problem: yes, we’re referring to summer holidays, here arranged into sex and destination.
All things considered, holidays can be a big hustle. Packing, trains, check-in, maps, mp3 and stuff. Maybe here you’ll find everything you need and the night before you leave might become a pleasant night. Oh well.
Your house turns into a stove in summer? Nothing will refresh you more than a mountain hike, maybe in one of those places where you can’t even buy a newspaper and your mobile connection…well, forget about it.
For a place like this you need: the new Chet Faker album, a good John Grisham book, the last season of Desperate Housewives, the classic flannel check shirt, one parka, a Yakamoto Kotzuga mix, Junior Woodchucks’ compass clock and a Swiss Army Knife to carve her and your name on an oak bark at the center of the wood.
Girls Lost in the Wood
If you’re such in love with him that you have followed him up to the top of the mountain where you will hardly scroll the new Channing Tatum pics on Instagram, well, then you will totally need: some super-cuddly slippers, a cup of hot tea, a secret diary, but above all Fatima’s Yellow Memories to remind you that you could have gone to NY but no, you have chosen Roccaraso (famous mountain location in Abruzzo), a hair conditioner and a crochet.
Here. It really depends on you. How have you spent your last 365 days? Have you compulsively read all the news on DLSO? Have you gone to the gym? Or has your winter flown away in an alternative way, between Breaking Bad and True Detective?
Whatever. Pietro (who is a girl) will be helpful: we suggest you some crunchy jokes to pull at cocktail time, at least one jellyfish bite, frisbee, and the bathing suit lowered at least 2 centimeters than the suntan mark.
DO NOT EAT CALIPPO (famous italian phallic popsicle) and show a bit of pecs, take with you a guitar to play at least 3 songs besides Wish You Were Here and then, both mixes by Beat Soup and Mr.Nonsense (June+July). Last tip: before you go on holiday, take a look on Google Street View to find the perfect spot where you can kiss her: you know, girls like views. And kisses, too.
There’s a thing I’ve never really understood: why do women love going to the seaside so much? Let the sun and the suntan pass, but I think there’s a sort of fatal attraction between girls and the sea. Whatever, for your beach holidays you need: a suntan cream and a book to read under the parasol (I suggest Miranda July’s first story collection, No One Belongs Here More Than You).
Grab a light dress with this straps, Summer Mix by The Internet, some friends to wait for the dawn with crossed legs as redskins, shells stolen from the waves, somebody fascinating you can smile at and a soundtrack which has these opening lines: I can be your fantasy, while you’re dancing alone tonight (yeah), or you can be my majesty, got me running for you. And then, a long skirt and the perfect timing to take some photos of the sea setting.
Shore for exchanging glances-girls
For nearly six days you have been ogling her and she has been ogling you. You have pretended to read Carrère’s Limonov – instead you have only thought to kiss her (you haven’t move from page 81, you could deliver it by heart). She and her crossword puzzles, bent back, asking you the most bizzarre across and downs. So you manage ditching your friends (they will ask where the hell you have gone) and she dumps her “Sex and the City” girlz. Together you stroll for miles on the seaside, you step on a child’s sand castle because you are too absorbed gazing her eyes while she’s telling you “Tomorrow-going to leave-this night-fireworks”.
It’s night. You are drawn like an e-chord. You tied your hair back; she is waiting for you as she is sipping a beer. You watch the fireworks, she is behind you as she’s putting headphones on you and she plays Caribou Can’t Do Without You.
Suddenly it’s La Boum (remember that scene of the epic 80s French movie for teenagers?).
And you finally kiss each other.
Him and the Urban Jungle
“This year I’m really having a good time”.
You kept telling all the time, dreaming of adventurous holidays in exotic places.
Whereas you have 650 euros on your bank account and you still have to pay for the rent.
So: take the bike and ride for 20/30 miles per day until there’s no cars go in your town: it’s gonna be the perfect day to discover the best artisanal ice-cream pretending the same pomposity of a sommelier.
Organize a pic-nic with your friends, onions omelette and mint tea. Bring some music and start dancing to Jungle and their wonderful debut album. On Time there’s even somebody who slightly do some shy break-dance moves.
Enter an abandoned place at sunset. Then, invite everybody at your house, play together untile 2 a.m. – after all your neighbours have left for the holidays.
Finally you close your eyes with a big smile – those smiles you had when I were a child and when you had played all day long.
Gurlz and tha City
You could have left but then, at the end, it’s better this way. No packing, no stress, no earache on the plane or juicy pits on train.
If you stay in the city you can go to the museum, it’s one of those things you intend to do constantly and now you have the time to allow it.
Museums in summer are like quiet oasis with full out AC. Queues for big exhibitions disappear and you will relish your intellectual moment without elbowing some Japanese.
Things you need: a book by Pavese, a lock of hair you can roll between your fingers, going from old tobacco shops to another to find some ugly and neglected postcards, freckles, do not answer to your friends’ texts from the seaside or the mountain, a light blue gatorade.
Things you don’t need: blowing a two meters-inflatable crocodile by mouth because you forgot the pump in the garage.
Relax, there’s FKA Twigs in the air.